


Your Song’s No Good Round Here

by pearlcaddy



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV 2020)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Friends to Lovers, Living!Phantoms AU, Love Confessions, Steamy Kisses in the Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29590164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlcaddy/pseuds/pearlcaddy
Summary: “Do you think ‘Perfect Harmony’ is bad? Is that why you don’t want it on the album?”Luke won't put Julie's song on their new album, and she doesn't buy his explanation for why.
Relationships: Julie Molina/Luke Patterson
Comments: 92
Kudos: 528





	Your Song’s No Good Round Here

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Under My Skin" by Jukebox the Ghost
> 
> This is really too long to be a ficlet, but emotionally, it feels like a ficlet to me.
> 
> Another tumblr [kiss prompt](https://pearlcaddy.tumblr.com/tagged/pearlcaddy-kiss-prompt) that got out of control because they insisted on talking instead of kissing. This one is a combination of "Deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer," "Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain," and "A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick."

Slamming through the main door of the recording studio, Julie rushes out onto the sidewalk after the quickly retreating figure. “Will you get back here!?”

Luke spins around as he keeps bouncing away in the direction of the bus stop. “I told you, I gotta run.”

“Luke Patterson, I know your calendar. I _am_ your calendar.”

His backwards step fumbles and he tries to shrug, but it’s forced, too stiff. “You don’t know everything about my life.”

All she has to do is raise an eyebrow. They’ve known each other ten years, ever since sixth grade orchestra when they were seat partners during the brief time they both played cello. She knows him inside out, better than anyone aside from Alex and Reggie.

But he keeps walking backwards. “Sorry, Jules, but I really gotta—“

“Do you think it’s bad?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think ‘Perfect Harmony’ is bad? Is that why you don’t want it on the album?”

Luke comes to a swift stop, finally dropping the pretense of having somewhere else to be. “No, it’s just what I said—it doesn’t fit our sound.”

“Oh, and ‘Home is Where My Horse Is’ does?”

“That’s not final.” But he rubs the back of his head, because he is absolutely full of shit.

“What gives, Luke? We could make it our sound, we can workshop it together—“

“—No!” He cries, as if going anywhere near her song would be actual torture.

Part of her aches at that dismissal because who wants to write a love song only for the person it’s about to hate it? But she tries to shove that to the side. He doesn’t know it’s about him. He’s not knowingly rejecting a love song she wrote for him. He’s rejecting her song, and that hurts her musical ego more than she anticipated. “So you won’t even touch it? If you think it’s _that bad_ , be honest with me. I can handle it.”

All the energy seems to vacate his bouncy body in an instant. “Fuck. No, Jules, obviously it’s a killer song. You slayed it.”

“Then what?”

He dances from one foot to the other, his gaze slightly to the left of her head. “I don’t want a love song on the album.”

A gentle tap of dampness lands on her arm from the skies, but she brushes it off in irritation. “What about ‘Finally Free?’”

“Not a love song.”

“ _You’re a part of me now till eternity?_ That’s not a love song?”

“It’s…” He swallows heavily. “What do you want me to say?”

Wrapping her arms around herself, she tries to find words for this uncomfortable ache in her chest. She’s felt a lot of things because of Luke over the years—irritation, longing, joy, comfort, desire—but never this overwhelming rejection. “You’ve never shut me down like that before. And you guys have _never_ pulled the fucking bro code or whatever the hell that was back there.”

He jerks his head back into his neck, looking a bit like an indignant swan. “Bro code? What, you’re pissed at _me_ because Alex and Reggie voted it down too?”

“Reggie was about to say yes, and then you did some sort of…” She tries to mimic his face, unable to articulate exactly what expression he’d been making. Most of the time, she doesn’t care about the inside jokes and knowledge the guys share. The three of them have known each other longer and they’ve lived together for the past four years since high school. Of course they have a language she’s not part of. But they’ve never used it against her before. “They were gonna say yes, and you got them to say no for some Sunset Curve reason.” He opens his mouth again, but she cuts him off. “Don’t tell me I made that up.”

His face stills, then it crinkles and falls. “You didn’t.”

“Can you please just tell me _why?_ ”

“I’m…” He rubs the back of his head again, before his eyes finally drag to hers. She’s not sure what he finds on her face, but whatever it is makes his shoulders collapse in defeat. “I’m not comfortable doing a love song with you.”

Her heart drops painfully, but she shoves it aside. This isn’t about her feelings. This is about their job. If there are limits to the songs the band can do, she needs to know about them. She tries to keep her voice business-like and steady as she asks, “Writing or performing?”

“Both. I-It’s clearly an intimate song about your feelings for whoever this is, and I can’t tap into that. And it would feel weird and uncomfortable to try.”

She eyes his face, not sure how to read him. Is this a polite rejection— _get your love song away from me? I know who it’s about?_

“You helped Alex on ‘Museum Screams’ last year.”

“That was different. Alex had never written a song solo before.”

Another spot of rain lands on her other arm, and the uncomfortable sensation adds an extra spike of irritation to her anger. “Newsflash—neither have I! That’s why I was really hoping for your support on this.”

“I know Willie, so I kinda got where they were and what it was about. I didn’t even know you had someone in your life who you had these kinda feelings for.“ For a second, his face flashes with something. Like he’s squeezing the whole thing up in pain and then trying to yank an apathetic mask back on. Only he doesn’t manage it fast enough.

Oh.

_Oh._

He focuses on his feet. “Look, you clearly wrote this song about a musician, so you should work on it with them.”

She could say it’s about no one. Could claim it’s just a theoretical song, that it’s about the idea of love and not a specific person. Could continue what she’s done the whole time she’s known him—buried her feelings out of the fear of asking for something he doesn’t want or risking this precious friendship they have. But that face he just made? And his weird, out-of-character close-mindedness? This might be a mistake, and this might destroy everything, but:

“I’m trying to.”

His head snaps up. As his jaw works for a moment in wordless disbelief, she softens her face, trying to shoot him the kind of sweet smile that will answer his unasked question without forcing her to use words.

His feet fumble forward, seemingly without his permission. “Are you serious?”

Her whole body feels distant and tingling, like she’s about to reach the top of the first drop of a rollercoaster and she’s almost regretting getting on, wishing for an escape hatch. But she’s locked in now. Committed.

She nods.

“Holy shit.”

He almost flies across the pavement, stopping short just in front of her and bouncing in place. A small, disbelieving grin breathes across his face and he reaches up his hand to cup her cheek, his rough calluses unbearably gentle against her skin. She nuzzles her cheek into his palm and that grin widens.

“Holy shit,” he whispers again.

He leans in and—

—the heavens open, rain pouring down too aggressively for her to ignore this time.

As soon as the droplets hit her, she tries to cover her head with her hands. “Shit, my hair!”

He blinks, confused in the way that only someone whose hair care routine starts and ends with a five-minute shower would be. “Uh, your hair?”

For fuck’s sake. “Yes, white boy, my hair!”

“Oh, shit, right.” He quickly yanks off his sleeveless hoodie and hands it to her. She unfolds it and holds it up over her head and…

The cartoonish armholes leave giant gaps in the makeshift umbrella.

His mouth drops open, a clear apology on his lips, but the absurdity of the whole situation lures a reel of giggles out of her. He laughs too, face rumpling up sheepishly. Then he grabs her hand. “C’mon.”

They sprint to the nearest shelter. It should be a gazebo; that would be the romantic thing. But it’s the awning of the convenience store next to the studio. There’s only space for one person and he tucks her squarely into it, hovering next to her with the rain drenching him. She feels for the damage to her hair, grimacing at the dampness seeping into it.

He winces. “I’m sorry.”

“Tonight, I’m going to show you what all I have to do to take care of my hair, so the next time this happens, you understand the urgency.”

He nods, then processes the sentence. “We have plans tonight?”

“Unless you keep being a dick about ‘Perfect Harmony.’”

He slides his hand back up to her cheek, warm against the rain drops on her face, and suddenly they’re back in the moment before it started to rain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to perform a love song with you that’s about someone else. There’s a lot I’ll do for music, but that woulda been a bit beyond me.”

She rolls her eyes. “When would I even have had time to fall in love with someone else? I spend all my time with you dorks.”

He rests his forehead against hers, nose sliding against her nose, and she’s not sure whether the shiver that runs through her is from the affectionate gesture, or the heat of his body, or the cold rain dribbling down his face. “You’re in love?” he asks, voice barely louder than a whisper. Like if he says it too loudly it won’t be true.

“I wrote you a love song. I assumed that was implied.”

“But you haven’t said it.”

“ _You_ haven’t said anything except ‘holy shit.’”

A shy chuckle slips out of his lips. “I assumed it was implied,” he murmurs huskily as he nuzzles her nose, and her whole body vibrates. She thought she knew all his voices, but that rasp? That’s new, and it shoots straight through her. 

“Implied by what?” she manages.

“Everything. The way I look at you. The way I would do literally anything for you. The way that everyone, including strangers who’ve only seen us perform together, know how I feel about you. Shit, Jules.” His other hand comes up, caressing her other cheek like her face is the most precious thing he’s ever seen. “I’ve loved you ever since you refused to play Pachelbel's Canon because you thought the cello part was too boring.”

“You’ve loved me since the sixth grade?”

“I’ve loved you since before I knew what to call it.”

As soon as she smiles back at him, he eases his lips onto hers in a tentative, gentle brush.

After ten years of build up? Come on, dude.

She slides her hands into his hair and yanks him closer, opening her mouth under his. He groans into her and runs his fingers into her hair, gripping her close.

Normally, she hates when people run their hands through her hair—too distracted by how they’re ruining the curls she works so hard to maintain to pay any attention to what else is going on. But right now? This kiss has been too long in the making, and her hair is fucked anyways. He clutches the back of her head, fingers tangling into the curls to hold her in place, and she’s never felt such raw need in a kiss before, like he’s trying to pull her into him, like they can never be close enough.

Drops of rain glide around their joined mouths, making their lips slip. She digs her fingertips more firmly into his scalp to keep him in place, and a growl rumbles through him. One of his hands runs from her head down to the small of her back, dragging her body snug against his. Through their water-soaked clothes, she can feel the heat of his chest and his hand like there’s no fabric between them, like they’re bare together, and a whimper quivers out of her throat before she can stop it. He grinds against her in response, and she has to pull back to catch a breath. But before she can move too far away, he catches her lower lip between his teeth and rolls it in a quick bite. A high-pitched gasp whines out of her, and he slides his tongue over the lip, massaging away the sting with a smirk.

She only has a moment to stare at him, chest heaving, before there’s a loud cough.

A woman stands in front of them, pointing at the convenience store door they’re blocking. “Could I—?”

Julie jumps into the rain, letting out a nervous giggle. “Sorry!”

With an awkward nod, the woman passes them. After sucking a full breath of cool, rainy air into her lungs, Julie glances back at Luke. He detangles his hand from her curls and gently tugs his hoodie more firmly over her head.

Which is sweet, but… “It’s too late for my hair.”

“Sorry.” Then he reaches up and runs his thumb over her lower lip, where she can still feel the tingling of an impending mark.

“Are you sorry about that?” she asks.

His eyes roll lazily up to hers. “Not even a little.”

And in spite of the cool rain running all over her body, she feels very warm under his gaze. Catching the tip of his thumb with her lips, she sucks it into her mouth and swirls her tongue around the pad. He huffs out a shaky breath. “Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

Then the heat slips from his face as he studies her. “How long?”

“Sixth grade. After you wrote me a better cello part for Pachelbel's Canon.”

His grin is so bright that she could swear it almost chases away the rain. “Shame Harrison kicked us out of orchestra instead of letting us play it. My version would have killed.”

She rolls her eyes fondly. “Yeah, we really could have slayed middle school orchestra.”

He laughs. “I think I still have it somewhere. Should record it for the next album.”

“We’re adding cello to Julie and the Phantoms now?”

He wraps his arm around her shoulder and starts tugging her back towards the studio. “Haven’t you heard? Coherent album sounds are so 90s.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did I work a vague reference to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JdxkVQy7QLM) 2006 YouTube classic into what was meant to be a kiss drabble? Yes, I did.


End file.
